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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864887">Serva Me, Servabo Te</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ielleahc/pseuds/ielleahc'>ielleahc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:54:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ielleahc/pseuds/ielleahc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader is assigned by Mycroft Holmes to keep an eye out on Sherlock as he goes undercover to dismantle Moriarty's ring.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes &amp; You, Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes/You, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pursuit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock hated leaving you behind, waking up at the break of dawn and leaving just before the moon began its descent. He despised leaving you when your sleep cycle was at its deepest, where not even the most intentional of shoves would stir you awake. He resisted taking another glance at your sleeping figure, but retraced his steps only a moment later, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead before finally leaving the apartment. Despite this fact, he hated the idea of bringing you with him even more. The thought of putting you in harm's way was always lurking at the forefront of his mind. There was no profound explanation for this phenomena, but the fact remained.  After deconstructing and reorganizing, deleting and sorting through all the information he had kept in his mind palace for the last eighteen months, the idea of you remained. Out in the open, like a fleck of dust free floating in the air, always present, refusing to be compartmentalized and subject to a lonely room in his mind. </p><p> </p><p>This way is better, leaving you unaware was the lesser of two evils. To entertain the idea of keeping you on his arm, physically seeing you within arm's reach, and, having you accompanying him on the case was pure and unadulterated selfishness, He chastised himself. You deserved safety, sanctum. </p><p>You waited another fifteen minutes before rising out of bed. It was only a quarter past five in the morning, and yet, your body still felt as though you were back in London, five hours ahead. You made quick steps to the bedroom window facing the street, checking to see if Sherlock was still nearby. </p><p>This was your daily morning routine: feign sleep as Sherlock left, before following him in pursuit. You were always sensitive to time, giving him a  head start before making a move. You grabbed your laptop off the side table, switching the tracking application on (supplied by Myc) and waited as a map of the city began to download. Your eyes flitted across the screen, following the red line as it appeared, marking every pixel Sherlock's cab crossed. Was it the library today? Or city hall, perchance? After another three minutes of watching Sherlock's cab navigate across the map, you deduced three possible destinations.</p><p> </p><p>Fastening your helmet on, you took off on your bike, praying to a higher power that you'd deduced correctly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Erudition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock was not difficult to trace once you found him at the right location. He stood out poorly among the locals. Firstly, he was just far too tall.  Dressed in his typical fashion, belstaff and deerstalker, his disguise was laughable at best. Even from a distance, you could see tendrils of his unruly, coffee-colored hair spilling out from underneath his hat's brim, threatening to take all of the real estate on his forehead. It wasn't a particularly chilly day and although his jacket was not uncalled for, it was quite flashy. Its silhouette was form-fitting and well-tailored to his stature, it complimented his broad shoulders. The belstaff was cut at the perfect length, and contrasted against the colorful cagoules and simplistic overcoats that the locals donned.</p><p>You sat at a considerable distance away, on the opposite side of the park with your trusty sidekick, black binoculars resting on your lap. Dressed similarly to the other park residents, you wore plain blue denim jeans and white trainers. Your outfit complete with your own navy blue cagoule. Your h/c hair was tied taut in a bun that was hidden underneath a simple black baseball cap. You made sure to give no allowances and brought nothing of yours that Sherlock could deduce, or, better yet, recognize from you. Everything you were wearing was a recent purchase, easily disposable at the end of the day. Your own set of clothes left in a nondescript locker in a nearby recreational center.</p><p>"Be gentle, Sherley," You muttered to yourself before indulging in another bite of your lunch.</p><p>Using your right hand to peel back the waxy paper off your sub, you surveyed the scene playing out in front of you. Sherlock stationed himself partially hidden by the road beside the ongoing traffic. In comical fashion, he attempted poor conversation with the street vendor who was currently shooting daggers at the man in question. The stall in question had an assortment of simple, fashionable accessories. From necklaces to rings and sunglasses to belts and wallets, they were cheaply made, fashioned similar to what was currently on trend. You couldn't hear what was said, but you'd imagine it all being snapped in irritation. Just when things were about to get worse, a younger male, between his mid twenties and thirties, and quite comely (if you were willing to admit that to yourself), sidled up to the two in their heated discussion. From this angle, you saw no more than the back of his head as an exchange was made. You barely caught a glimpse of it as a silvery gift box was dropped into the young man's hand.</p><p>You moved to position your binoculars in an upward angle, facing towards the trees, pretending the hordes of pigeons were your fancy, if only to keep up the pretense of being a bird-watching enthusiast. The younger man seemed to be on high alert, shooting glances ever so often, even one in your general direction. On the empty spot next to you lay a brand new watercolor sketchbook, flipped to a couple pages in the middle, in a poor attempt to appear well worn. You scratched no more than a couple graphite strokes before calling an end to your charade. You were by no means an artist, you were far too pragmatic, logical. You liked the chase, the surveying, acting, and sitting in one spot, like now, was a pain in your impulsive rear. </p><p>"Nothing to see here," You hissed under your breath as you peeled back another bite.</p><p>You continued to shoot furtive glances in Sherlock's direction, making sure he was always within sight as the duo walked away from the stall. As if reading your mind, you watched as he shrugged his cap off, scrunching it in his fist, revealing his shaggy, bedhead. It seemed as though he was getting restless, agitated at something his acquaintance had said, no, lack of? </p><p>You noticed the tell-tale signs of his exasperation, the downwards curl of his lips, the wrinkle in his nose as he involuntary squinted at the man before him. At this point, there was no use in staying put. You moved to gather your belongings, tossing your sandwich into the bin. Today was retracing-his-steps day. In a routine pre-established, Sherlock was doing his rounds around the city, meeting with moles he'd put in place from the last year and half of his undercover work. Today proved to be unsuccessful when Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to think, processing what little information he'd been given. He was the fourth to come up with nothing valuable, no lead on any of their prior investigations, and no breadcrumbs to follow down a shoddy trail. There was little to do.  With what little information he gave, it did no more than reiterate what he already knew.</p><p>"Leave, Caius. If you have anything more to say, I don't want to hear it," Sherlock dismissed the younger man, and turned to walk away, pulling his deerstalker back on.</p><p>Nothing would come to fruition this week if it continued on like this. He'd have to make moves on his own. He'd play first, set up a trap and make the opposition respond. It would be hell. Sherlock continued to formulate his plans in his mind, pulling concepts together and building connections in his mind, as he paced towards the station. He'd need at least two-three days to set up entirely, and perhaps forgoing a night's sleep. He'd be restless regardless, Sherlock knew from past experiences.</p><p>Like clockwork, Sherlock's phone began to ring. He smiled to himself, already knowing who'd be calling. It was half past two in the afternoon, and although it was already too late, you never let him starve on his own. You had a knack for perfect timing lately, it seemed. He never realized it before but whenever he'd be on the tails of something,  walking the thinly veiled line of mortality, you knew exactly when to call him; when to bring him back. You always called on time. The sound clicked as he connected the call, saying nothing.</p><p>"Did you eat yet?" You hummed into the phone a moment after, grabbing your purse to go as you followed his pace. "I missed you this morning, shall we meet at Angelo's?"</p>
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